Trollcops
by SpinNPoint
Summary: In which Terezi and her trusty "sidekick" Sollux find themselves transported to Earth, in the year 1947. Much to the latter's dismay, Pyrope has been caught up in stories of the police force and insists on assisting the LAPD and their Golden Boy, Cole Phelps, in probably the worst way possible. Too bad Captor is the only one concerned about getting back to the asteroid.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm back! I didn't exactly go anywhere, but it took me a long while to decide whether I should put this up or not. And I decided to do it! Anyway, this is something I just assumed would be quite fun, and it actually is. I'm actually pretty proud and determined to finish it too. I just hope people don't kill me for actually making a crossover of these two fandoms...which are both fantastic in my point of view. Sometimes. Anyway, I'll probably change the title since it's absolutely original at the moment. Enjoy!**

**I do not own LA Noire or Homestuck, only the insignificant OCs that have tiny rolls in this story, mainly being victimized.**

* * *

"But I didn't do _anything_! You're- you're both insane!"

An unnerving cackle echoed off of the hollow walls of the small shack. The one responsible slammed the end of her cane down against the floor, devilish grin widening as the restrained man across from her jumped. He huddled closer to the wall, watching the shadows that concealed everything but him with large eyes.

"I can smell your lies."

The moonlight showering in from a small hole in the low roof glinted off of her smile. Her intimidating, sharp-toothed smile.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about!" He struggled on the cold floor, flinching as the tightly bound ropes rubbed painfully against his skin.

"Quit dodging the truth!" She snapped suddenly, cane rapping on the floor again.

The man's gaze flicked down to where the end of the pointed stick was just visible, along with a pair of blood red shoes. He turned his attention back to what he could see of her face. That same smile.

This couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible. What had he been doing? Walking home from a nice candle light dinner date? That was all. He swore that was all. He hadn't done _anything_ wrong! He wasn't rich, he didn't ask for trouble, and he most certainly wasn't involved with any crimes or gang wars. So why was _he_, of all people, a target? Where was the LAPD when he needed them? What good was the law anyway if one can't even step out on the _street_ without being attacked? What good was the law if someone sounding so young could cause so much trouble?

A slow, painful silence passed, and he was sure that the stranger was doing it on purpose. He was _sure_ that she was staring him down from where she stood absolutely motionless. _Sure_ that she was relishing in this moment. Enjoying every single second of this growing fear and suspense.

The man's breath quickened as the clock ticked on, his hands tied securely behind his back growing sweatier than they already had been before. In fact, he was a sticky mess all over, hair and suit plastered uncomfortably to every inch of him. His heart was a deafening beat in his ears.

He needed to get out. To find help. To call for it. Anything. But he could only force himself to stare, his mouth refusing to work.

_Oh please God! Elizabeth, notice I haven't come home yet, call the police, _please_. Do anything!_ The thought of concealing his terror never crossed his mind twice. It was such a hard thing to do in circumstances like this. _Please!_

There was a loud creak from the far side of the room- _so_ much louder in his paranoid state that the man would have leapt up from where he sat if he could. His heart skipped a beat, as did his breathing, adrenaline rushing through his veins as his eyes flitted frantically across the small space.

The female cackled again.

That noise _must_ have caught _someone's_ attention.

But then there was a cough, and the laugh was cut short.

The captive attempted to calm himself, a furious headache beginning to form between his temples. Of course it would be no use, but it was worth a try.

"I called them," it was the other voice.

The other voice that if he had to choose, he would choose that voice. Though it was calmer, it disturbed him a fair bit more than the female's. It belonged to a male, but a young one, with a nasally teenaged tone and a lisp. The people of this world today, what was it coming to when a couple of _children_ were grabbing random strangers off the street for a mentally excruciating interrogation?

"Excellent!" The girl giggled almost cheerfully as she swung around on the spot, continuing to block any view of the other individual. "He's a belligerent one, but I'm pretty close!"

"You better hurry. They aren't far."

The man felt his breathing speed up again, and he craned his neck, trying to get a better understanding of what was going on in the darkness. Who_ were coming?_

"Damn."

He _swore_ he could hear her teeth snap together in displeasure. He shuddered.

"Way to spoil all the fun!"

The male sighed somewhat irritably, "Whatever."

His imagination was suddenly shaken with the worst of outcomes. Large men in masks pulling out guns, knives, asking for money, for his life, his family, who knew? Panic struck him and he struggled again, grunting as he squirmed on the floor before yelling out in a high pitched voice, "What the _hell_ do you plan to do to me?"

Another uncomfortable silence swept over like a wave, and he stopped his useless attempts at freeing himself.

The girl turned.

He knew it.

The girl turned on a heel slowly. But he could no longer see that shimmering nightmare of a mouth on her face, only darkness.

"It's simple," her tone was sharp, colder than he had ever heard before. "I'm not totally sure how your courtship works, but I'm guessing lying about going to see some other pretty lady when you have a perfectly fine one at your hive isn't exactly a good thing."

His heart nearly stopped, eyes widening further, if that was even physically possible. _What? How?_

"There's no use hiding it. I can smell your guilt now," and just like that, it changed back into being sickly amused. "I can smell it and I bet even my partner can it's such a disgustingly strong odour."

What was she talking about? His eyes flicked nervously around the confined space again, pulling himself further under the moonlight and away from the shadows.

"But to answer your original question," she sniggered quietly.

He heard her move.

He didn't _dare_ look her way.

"Justice."

Slightly surprised at the change of tone again, the man took a quick glance in her direction. A blur of movement passed before him and he was met with that terrifying grin leering above him, large red eyes burning into his own. She swung the cane above her head, blunt end of it poised to strike.

And then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 1: Bitter Mornings and Stories

**A/N: Decided to upload Chapter 1 as well. It's done, so why not? Forgot to mention that this takes place a few weeks after the Black Dahlia cases, so SPOILER WARNING. This story isn't meant to be taken far too seriously either. I mean come on, it's Homestuck :B **

**A bit of language, courtesy of Galloway (and technically Sollux, I suppose). **

**I do not own LA Noire or Homestuck, only the minor OCs, as mentioned before.**

* * *

Chapter 1:

Cole Phelps stared blankly at the ceiling above him, hands folded across his chest. It was just past 6AM, the alarm for said time quickly shut off for the sake of the individual sharing his bed.

Marie had been working harder than usual lately. Why? He wasn't entirely sure, but it may have been to do with the fact that _he_ was working harder as well. All the same, he didn't want to disturb her for any unnecessary reasons, like a noisy alarm clock. She needed to wake the girls in an hour anyway.

The window across the room was slightly ajar, morning breeze carrying the noises of a waking city into the bedroom. Birds sang and a car blared far in the distance. He closed his eyes momentarily before sighing. He was looking forward to getting out there to his usual morning drive, the calm before the storm. Not to say he was exactly thrilled about _work_. Actually, he was never really _thrilled_ about anything, but particularly not anything as of late.

Now that the Black Dahlia killer was taken care of and a short peace had settled over Los Angeles, not a lot was happening on the Homicide desk, which was the exact opposite of what Cole had expected. Though he _was_ pleased that no more lifeless bodies were piling up. But honestly with all of the sick and twisted minds out there, he was completely surprised that hundreds of wannabes hadn't instantly sprung up. Then again, everyone else in LA believed all of the murders to be the work of screwed up husbands and psychos who wanted ladies dead, using the newspaper information on the original murder as a guide.

Of course, Cole knew it wasn't true. Of course he did. And he hated it. He hated how it was blown off. How those innocent men _he_ put in jail would be set free under the radar. Well, most of them were innocent anyway. They probably all hated him. But of course they did. And for good reason too. But he spat upon the outcome all the same.

Just because of the man's powerful family. Who _cared_? He was completely mental and wouldn't have gotten off scott-free even if he was related to the _Queen_.

Oh, _and_ the police department's reputation was at stake too.

How could he possibly forget?

But things never went the way you wanted them to, and it was just a run of bad luck for the detective. Unfortunately, thebad luck didn't stop there.

Promoted to Ad Vice, they said. It's a great opportunity, they said. Sure, a great opportunity if Roy Earle hadn't asked for him personally. He didn't know much about the guy, but he knew he was a complete jerk.

Wonderful.

Perhaps it'd be like Rusty. Maybe he would grow on him? He could only hope.

Cole's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then the man sighed softly, slowly slipping out from under the covers. Face expressionless, he walked across the room as if being pulled by strings, footsteps heavy and forced. Wrenching the closet open, he stared blankly at the neat row of hung clothing before quickly pulling out a suit and matching tie, escaping into the bathroom in case his wife woke early.

He wasn't entirely in the mood to talk to anyone today, and as such, brought the outfit with him as he took a rushed shower, packed his equipment without even entering the kitchen for morning coffee, and slipped out the door with only a simple note to explain his absence.

~ X ~

_Back straight, head high, clear the mind_.

Cole took a deep breath, straightening his tie as he looked up at the Central Police Station. It was standing solid and proud as ever, a shining mirror of law enforcement in the city. Or…perhaps just the pride. But as much as he didn't want to, the detective had to admit that he barely even dipped a toe into the potential corruption of the department. He planned to keep it that way too.

Expression falling blank, he made his way up the cement steps slowly, sighing before swinging one of the double doors open.

Before he could even get a clear look inside of the station, a sudden urge to slam the door shut, turn around on the spot, and act as if he had _just_ pulled into the parking lot washed over the detective. But he would never do that, not to mention he was pretty curious.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down," Captain James Donnelly stood in the middle of the hallway, speaking clearly and carefully to a man Cole had never seen before. He looked absolutely frazzled and, frankly, crazy, eyes wide and bloodshot. As if he hadn't slept in days.

"Calm _down_? Officer, you don't understand! I'm telling you, those _things_, those _ch-_"

"Yes, those children, those monsters, we have heard your complaints and are investigating it right now as we speak."

"Ha! You're lying! I know it!"

And was also obviously wearing thin on the captain's patience, flailing about and making a scene like that.

"_Rest assured_, we _do_ believe you, son."

It was all in his tone, all patience thrown out the window. Well, he was as impatient as someone of his stature could possibly be.

"Now, if you would _please_ go back into the room we assigned you so your wife can c-"

"My wife! Oh god, my _wife_!" The man's hands flew to his disheveled hair. "No! I- I need to apologize! To- to make amends! Make everything better…to…to do something…" The excessive shouting died down to a jumbled, barely coherent mumble, though he still appeared beyond worried and insane with fear.

Donnelly raised his hands in a calming fashion, as if it would help ease the man's mind. Though if Cole hadn't known any better, he would have said it was to strangle him.

The situation clearly couldn't have been something all too serious, the way everyone seemed to handle it as if routine. A few officers behind the reception desk were smirking and whispering and, for some odd reason, refusing to assist their superior, who had spun the man around on the spot.

He spoke more forced reassurance as the other continued to murmur dejectedly, eyes fastened to the floor as he hunched over and dragged his feet towards an empty interview room. Donnelly didn't bother following him, only watching long enough to make sure he really did get in. And stayed there this time.

Cole, throughout the whole entire experience, stayed glued to the spot in the doorway, eyebrows slowly climbing higher and higher as it played out before him. And then, as there were a few audible chuckles from the other officers and the Homicide Captain sighed heavily and turned, the Golden Boy of the LAPD was finally noticed.

"Phelps, my boy!"

Said man nearly jumped out of his skin at his boss' sudden change of tone. And volume. And pretty much whole attitude as he clapped his hands and threw them into the air enthusiastically.

"It's good to see a shining face on such a hectic day!"

Cole nodded once, smiling slightly as he was snapped from his stupor. He stepped into the station, meeting Donnelly halfway for a quick handshake and receiving a pat on the back from the older man.

"Captain," nodding again, this time in greeting, Cole couldn't help but frown, curiosity getting the better of him. "What was all that just now, sir?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, lad," he waved a hand dismissively, attempting to hide his irritation. "Just another one of those red-eyed children stories."

The detective raised an eyebrow, "Another one?" The two began to make their way towards the staircase, passing policemen greeting them as they went.

"Don't think on it," the Scotsman shook his head.

It was another one of those short, stiff movements that Cole always took as "think on it, we're probably going to need your help in the future." And he was usually right, both in believing the captain never really meant leave the case alone _and_ that they needed an extra set of hands. But he simply nodded his head, gaze turned away from Donnelly.

"Galloway's waiting for you upstairs. Run along, Phelps."

A foot on the first step, Cole paused, frowning slightly before turning to look back at his boss. But he beat him to it before the detective could even open his mouth.

"Homicide won't be your home for much longer," Donnelly smiled proudly.

Cole thought it only polite to give a small smile back.

"Make the best of it for what you have left, hmm?"

The younger man nodded, stood awkwardly for a moment, and then turned to walk up the staircase. He couldn't help but notice that he had seemed almost disappointed. Why? He wasn't exactly sure, and didn't have the motive to think on it long. After all, he was more focused on wondering why they had decided to keep him on his current desk longer than originally planned. Didn't they say _immediate_transfer only a week ago?

* * *

Not Too Far In The Future:

"The promotion's postponed?" Both detectives nearly shouted at the same time, one with his eyes narrowed and the other simply looking surprised.

The latter sat forward in his chair, "Wait, since when was I _promoted_?" He was both confused- which lead to a bit of wariness- and excited. Why hadn't anyone told him sooner? It seemed like all that time with Phelps had actually paid off for more than just one. No more abandoned vehicles and reckless street races for him!

The former, however, simply switched his scowl from the captain to the younger man sitting next to him, "You really are an idiot, you know that, _Der_-kowsky?"

"No more of a moron than you, Earle."

"Girls, please," and just like that, the attention was turned back to the older individual behind the desk, "I called you both here for a _reason_…"

Despite the presence of someone much higher in power than them- well, _one_ of them-, they never did look or speak with each other again afterwards, like two pouting children. At least, not until they had to go their separate ways outside of the office door, in which the Traffic detective said a hearty goodbye to "dimwit Roy-alty." This only earned him a smack on the back of the head and a very nasty glare.

He fixed his hat, which had fallen askew from the blow, and walked away rather quickly. Stupid star officers and their stupid lack of humor. Well whatever, Stefan had believed it to be pretty clever, if he did say so himself.

* * *

Back To The Not-So-Distant Past, Away From That Completely Irrelevant Flash-Forward:

When working with Galloway, Cole had learned a lot of seemingly worthless bits of information that were, in fact, extremely helpful when the time called for it. None of them really ever pertained to work, but obviously did to life. Like how he should never come between a man and his drink. Or how some men will absolutely _refuse_ to be proven wrong no matter the situation. Or how calling the older detective by his given name instead of simply Rusty was one of the more amusing things Cole had taken to doing whenever the former felt like being antagonizing.

And he most definitely learned that _Finbarr_ absolutely _hated_ being asked question after question after question from someone who really did expect an answer.

So as he slowly edged into the Homicide briefing room, sat down, and gave a short greeting to his partner, Cole did his best to keep the curiosity at bay. But it obviously wasn't working. Apparently rereading old case notes, examining the few papers that were hanging from the billboards, and making frequent tapping noises on the wooden desk wasn't enough. But it was for Galloway to shoot several annoyed glances in his direction, and then Cole would just glance right back when he looked away.

He was a senior detective, he should know a lot. Right? Of course he did. And Phelps knew it too.

It was oddly quiet in the room, as there weren't many people to chat it up with this early in the morning, and out of those who _were_ there, half of them were doing paperwork. He thought of turning to Rusty a few times to just get a conversation rolling, but what would he talk about? The weather? The cases were gone, the fear was gone, Garrett Mason was gone, there was nothing.

The younger man's lips tensed into a straight line, foot tapping beneath the desk. Where was the captain? It certainly couldn't be taking this long to get whatever had happened under control.

Of course the young detective's actions weren't going unnoticed. Of course Galloway had seen this sort of behavior on the same man before. Of course he wasn't going to bring anything up. But honestly, Cole's antsy behavior about a new, fresh, unsolved case sitting directly under his nose was beginning to get on the veteran's nerves.

Sure, he didn't- and would probably _never_- see the world through his modest and everything-must-be-justified eyes, but he finally decided to relieve some of Phelps' interest out of a good heart. Or maybe it was just the fact that no, Donnelly was _not_ coming back any time soon. But he liked to believe he was doing something good for his partner. They had, in fact, come a long way from bitter scowls and snarky comments. Now it was just _friendly_ scowls and _good-natured_ snarky comments.

Oh, who was he kidding? His respect for the kid had sky-rocketed since his promotion months ago.

"Alright Cole," he said suddenly, turning to face him and leaning an elbow on the table, "spit it out. What's bothering you now?"

An awkward silence passed as the man slowly tilted his head in the other's direction. His mouth was still in that tight line, eyes narrowed in their usual over-thinking way. Anyone who knew _anything_ about Phelps could see he already had a million theories and double the questions forming in his mind.

Rusty got comfortable, preparing himself. And just as he did so, Cole burst.

"You don't think there could _actually_ be something else going on with those weird reoccurring cases, do you?" He asked almost a bit too loudly, already assuming he knew his partner's answer.

"Honestly," Rusty sighed, "after what I've seen the past couple of weeks, I'd still have to say no."

Yeah. _Thought so_.

"It just sounds to me like a few teenagers who've got some sick sense of humor are pulling a half-assed Werewolf, only it's for the good side this time."

Cole frowned slightly, "But are children really pulling this off?"

"Hell if I know. Hell if _anyone_ knows. If you ask me, it sounds like some lame story kids tell around the campfire. Glowing red eyes? I mean, come _on_. That's just pushing it."

There was a thoughtful pause as his response was absorbed, the younger detective turning his gaze to a chipped spot on the desk in front of him.

"Do you know what happened this time?" He asked after a while.

Galloway scratched the back of his neck before sighing, "They got the call a little past midnight, same voice and everything. Apparently whoever took the phone tried to get more out of him, but all they got was the same answer in return."

Cole stared at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes.

"'None of your business, dipshit.' Anyway," he continued once seeing that his partner was satisfied with the answer. "When they got to the scene of the crime, the suspects had completely vacated. The only thing left was that guy," he nodded in the general direction of the stairs at this, "and another note explaining what he did."

"In that same strange writing pattern?"

"Yep."

"What did he do?"

"Adultery. Skipper thinks they're getting worse."

Phelps leaned back in his chair, eyes staring blankly at an area directly above the black board on the other side of the room. That may have actually been true, as it progressed from barely worth noting fits of violence to cheating. But only time and more of these occurrences could truly tell.

When the veteran realized that he wasn't going to respond, he continued on with the story.

"He was knocked out for a while, but was twisting and turning in his bed next door. They said it might've had to do with some sort of mental drug inducing guilt, just like the other guy," Rusty once again gestured out of the briefing room. "That's why Roy's here."

Confusion flitted across Cole's face as he turned his attention back to the older man, sitting forward, "Detective Earle?"

He nodded, "Yup, just in case it needs to be transferred over to Vice."

Well, that was one less question to worry about; only striking up a couple hundred more in the process. But the younger of the two simply nodded in understanding, "Is that all?"

"Of what I know, yeah," Rusty answered, shrugging slightly as he continued to watch Cole. He was almost positive that the detective was going to whip out his pocketbook and start jotting down everything he just heard. But he didn't. He knew when cases were his responsibility and when he'd get flak for not doing the proper ones. Or…he knew when not to do it publicly. He was a smart kid, after all.

And then Phelps frowned, opened his mouth once, shut it, and then opened it again, this time speaking. "Do you think they'd let me see the messages?"

Galloway sighed, raising an eyebrow at his partner, "Not unless it's any of your damn business," a pause, "or mine."

Cole couldn't help the small smile that quirked upwards at Rusty's odd choice of words as they both fell silent. It turned out he wouldn't have to worry about getting the cases out of his head. Not if the senior detective was truly hinting at what Cole believed him to be (because obviously for one to understand Rusty, they have to have some backwards philosophy).

They had never exactly meddled in a situation they weren't supposed to yet, but he figured it would get them mixed into something far larger than either had suspected if they did.

One last time-

He was leaving this desk soon, after all, and Cole would take his partner's sudden change in motivation to get things done willingly anytime. He had changed, that was for sure.

-For old time's sake.

* * *

**That ending didn't make sense, did it? Ah well, didn't know how to word it properly. I'm still learning though!**

**Chapter 2 will most likely be up in a week, considering it's done as well. I just have to go over a few things and get started on 3. I'm going to finish this even if I have no readers *determination***


	3. Chapter 2: Working Traffic

**A/N: Language. Spoilers. Warning. Warning. Warning.**

**Ha...haha... I lied ; - ; It's been more than a week, obviously, but I was busy (totally not being lazy or anything) and paranoid and looking for an address that would work. Eventually I just gave up though and made no address (well, I have no idea how LA streets work. I'm a Canadian :B) and convinced myself (again) I was doing this for my own amusement... Anyway, updatesupdatesupdates. The next one is going to be quite a bit longer...like, _really_ long. That's reassuring isn't it? Yup. And I meant time-wise, not length of the chapter. Sorry if some of this doesn't even make sense (like, um, how they got there...), but we'll cross that bridge when we get there (read: when I somehow get to that chapter). And, yes, this chapter mainly focuses on Bekowsky for a reason. Trust me. This is all planned out! ... :D**

**I do not own Homestuck or LA Noire and its characters. I do own the actual OCs dotting this chapter, with their absolutely horrible names...ugh. Anyway.**

* * *

Chapter 2:

Newspapers had such an unappealing odour. It was as if someone had dumped sticky, black tar on a delicious vanilla milkshake. Too bad it hid such a wonderful black licorice flavor under that inky façade.

A large grin split across the female's face as she stared blankly at the rows of dark text gripped in her hands. Sunlight filtered in between the cracks of broken and charred wood from a long forgotten fire, reflecting off of her glasses and on to the illegible words hanging in front of her. But reading them would never be a problem.

Giggling quietly, she opened her mouth and dragged her tongue across the paper, leaving a thick trail of saliva in its wake. There was a pause as she rolled the flavour around thoughtfully, and then with a tight nod, she spun around and did the same with another newspaper that was also secured to the broken roof with a thin piece of string.

"Aha!" She shouted rather loudly, her own enthusiasm causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.

It was only a matter of time before she figured it out. That name that kept repeating and repeating in every article? Done. Those silly mysteries and repeated murders? Simple. Why the _real_ outcome was never mentioned? Like baking a cake! _Oh_, would her apple-berry blast friend be excited when she told him of her discovers today!

"TZ! I found that last newspaper you were looking for."

"Speak of the devil," the girl mumbled, smiling widely as there was a crash from the direction of her companion's voice, followed by several expletives as he regained his balance. She pushed past the drapery of black and white, following that tangy stench of yellow and if she didn't know any better…yes! Some more of that octopus ink paper! Stuff she hadn't even pressed her nose to yet! He could be _so_ useful sometimes.

"Watch your step klutzilla! I don't want dust and soot on my evidence!" Cackling gleefully, the girl popped directly into view, beaming as he barely jumped and narrowed his eyes. She reached out a hand and snagged it from him before he had time to open his mouth in greeting, skipping away into the maze of papers once more.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he slipped off the outdoor gear that they roamed around in during daylight. Or _he_ roamed around in. Who knew what TZ did the whole entire day in this grimy, near collapsing hive?

He had just placed the dark sunglasses on a small makeshift shelf (which pretty much comprised of a broken beam that punched a decently sized hole in the wall), when there was an ear-splitting screech of joy from further within the building. It turned into delighted laughter, and the young man couldn't help but roll his eyes as he made his way to the source. Stepping over rubble and a few personal artifacts that had been left lying around, he pushed aside the hanging articles, heading towards the centre.

It was amazing what one individual could do in about a week with a bit of rope, newspaper, and an empty building that was avoided by most inhabitants of this city. Of course, those who were brave- or stupid- enough to enter the crumbling structure in the first place were scared away before they ever caught sight of anything. But that's another story.

Most of what was left of the temporary home for the two had been used up for what the girl had currently deemed: "1NV3ST1G4T1ON: L4PD," consisting of article upon article ripped from several newspapers found from over the year strung from different areas of the roof in a perfect circle. The centre of which held the only space completely devoid of her evidence. This was where she either sat on one of the only intact chairs they could find or paced, mumbling or snickering to herself when the time called for it.

Though it probably wasn't the most important issue at the moment, it took up the most room. The rest of it was used up by her companion and his own, far more pressing worries and interests concerning the world.

As soon as he no longer had papers literally stuffed in his face, the young man was met with her sharp teeth and glinting glasses again, mouth pulled up into a triumphant grin.

"You'll _never_ guess what I found out today!"

He raised an eyebrow in a silent gesture for her to continue.

"It turns out they aren't completely hopeless," she spun on the spot, swiping her cane up from where it had been resting against the metal armchair. Spinning it in a hand, the girl placed the other on her hip, "And that final piece of the puzzle tied it all together!"

With a flick of her wrist, the end of the cane was thrust to her right, where a newspaper with a hole in the centre of it was sitting directly underneath a newly hung block of text. There was a large, red circle on this one, standing out from the black and white background and surroundings. Her companion tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes and stepping forward to get a better look.

"A promotion!" She nearly shouted, dropping the end of her cane to the floor with a confident tap. "Reporters are sneaky bastards and they get everything, but why not _why_ he was promoted? That's what I want to find out. There was obviously something. There's obviously a secret and I want to find it out! I want to find _him_ out! The killer!"

The young man's eyes scanned over the report, gaze always pulled back to a single name. Yes, even _he_ had noticed that one pop up now and again. But he simply shook his head and turned around, making his way to the far side of the circle.

"I'm going to meet him soon."

He glanced behind him briefly, watching as she stared sightlessly up at the roof.

"I'm going to meet him and get the story. I'm going to prove myself, damn right! Captor! We're going out again tonight!" Her head swung in his direction, the smile a lot darker than she probably planned it to be. "And I'm bringing the coin this time." Then again…maybe not.

Said boy simply waved her off dismissively, pushing through her "investigations" again, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. That wasn't remotely as exciting as I thought it'd be."

A frown instantly replaced her previous expression, and she had to restrain herself from throwing something at the back of his head. So instead, the girl waved her cane in the air like an old woman, stomping a foot, "Don't walk away from me when I'm on the verge of a great discovery for justice and trying to be dramatic about it, barf-blood!"

He, however, merely snickered in response.

And that was the time she took to pick some run-down red chalk up, whipping it through the area he had just passed through (giving it a lick first, of course). It was her turn to snicker as a shout of surprise was heard through the curtain of papers, the tiny piece making direct contact with the back of his head.

~ X ~

Stefan Bekowsky sat at his usual desk in the briefing room next morning, trying and failing repeatedly to stand a pencil on its tip. He quickly discovered that it wasn't exactly possible. He wasn't an idiot. But the detective continued to place it so it balanced on the sharp led, only to watch it fall rather pathetically as soon as he let go.

Why was he partaking in such a meaningless task? Well, for one it kept him mildly entertained as he waited for the captain, the term "mildly" being used very loosely. And it also distracted him from listening to his nuisance of a partner as he nattered on about pointless crap that nobody really cared about. Or there'd be times when he'd shoot Bekowsky's whole self-image down without realizing it. Oh, those were the awkward conversations…

But the little pest was getting coffee at the moment, leaving his partner to stop his aimless fiddling for the time being. He leaned back in the chair, pulling his hands to his lap as he stared down at the motionless pencil.

Working Traffic, one grew to have an outstanding tolerance for boredom (not to say it was never experienced), but he was awfully tired of waiting and couldn't be more anxious to get a case. As…odd as that sounded. It was better than sitting all day and doing paperwork anyway. But his hopes weren't entirely all that high.

After all with those weird midnight occurrences, every high-end cop was off making sure the whole ordeal didn't turn into another case of the Black Dahlia. Of what Stefan knew they were remarkably similar, besides the killing of course. He just hoped that Captain Leary had actually remembered that he still existed. And everyone else too.

He glanced around the room, watching as the other officers conversed cheerfully, and often loudly, with each other.

Yeah sure, everyone else too.

"Stefan!"

Said man barely flinched as his name was nearly yelled in his ear, eyes narrowing the slightest amount. _Lovely._

"So I heard this little rumour," Gerald Nixon, his younger, over-enthusiastic partner, slammed a cup down on the table, the dark liquid inside nearly sloshing over the rim.

"Really now?" Bekowsky almost, _almost_ sounded excited to hear it.

"Yep," he sat down, an eyebrow raised as he smiled crookedly at the older man.

A silence passed.

"Well? Do I need to ask what it was?" Stefan turned his gaze to the other, whose smile widened and he spun around to face the front of the room.

"Don't be so bitter. It was about your promotion!"

Frowning thoughtfully, the older detective crossed his arms, slightly curious, "Oh?" News sure did travel fast here, though he should've known that already.

"Yeah! I mean, how _crazy_ is it that you got shot straight to Homicide? Isn't there usually a whole couple of steps before that?" Gerald swiped up the pencil that had been sitting on the desk, twirling it in his hand. "Cole was one of the best detectives ever and he still had to sit through Burglary before that big promotion."

And _of course_ it always revolved around the Golden Boy.

"Yeah," Stefan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, watching expressionless as his partner stole his only form of entertainment. "That's _probably_ because they need a replacement for him on Homicide," he sat forward slightly, a small smile forming despite it all, "and they _obviously_ made the best choice possible. I mean come on, look at me."

"That or they just picked whoever spent the most time with him besides the old Homicide guy," Nixon took a quick drink of his coffee, shrugging nonchalantly. "Everyone else is too inexperienced or lazy to care. Except you're usually the latter, but I guess time with Phelps makes up for it all."

There was a pause in the conversation as Bekowsky slowly turned to fully glare at his partner, who was beaming proudly at his own comeback.

He shook his head, "I'm a damn good and committed detective without a lazy bone in my body and you know that. Now," he flicked a wrist in the direction of…away from him, "go be useful and find the Captain so he can give us the lowdown."

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

His expression quickly fell blank, watching as the smile that was always somehow present grew, stretching across Gerald's face. If he hadn't known the guy for a while now, he would've said it was creepy. In fact, he _had_ thought it that way when the two first met. But one got used to it. Eventually.

Following his gaze, the older detective was just in time to see the door swing open, Captain Leary himself stepping through with much more than his usual clipboard in hand. Bekowsky would have given his partner an extremely odd and apprehensive look for his awfully accurate prediction if he hadn't been staring at his flustered boss with a raised brow.

It wasn't a usual sight to see him so high-strung and drained. And it was also fairly easy to tell when he was obviously that.

"Bekowsky, Nixon," he snapped, though it was probably not meant to be so originally, slamming the pile of books down on the podium at the front of the room. "It's another one, and right now, you're the best we've got. There's a car involved this time. Go find it at," pausing, the captain glared down at the clipboard he had managed to scavenge from the mess of papers, relaying the address in a rush seconds later.

Apparently that was all. Stefan learned this the hard way, staring at Leary expectantly only to have him snap a very impatient "Go!" about five seconds later. And go he did. Rather quickly. The younger man followed behind much more calmly, nodding a friendly goodbye to the captain as the two made their way out.

They didn't speak walking to Stefan's car parked out front, Gerald wearing his large grin even despite the lengthy silence that would have gotten awkward if it had been anyone else. And it only continued throughout the duration of the drive. The only thing exchanged within the vehicle was a rare sigh now and then, content from the passenger, impatient from the driver.

Eventually however, about halfway to their destination and the two of them backed up about a mile, Bekowsky turned to his partner.

"You know what's up with the captain?" It was unlikely that the younger man knew, but it was worth a try all the same. He flipped the siren on, still keeping an eye to his right as he waited for the cars to clear as much as they could on the busy street.

Gerald kept his eyes forward, sighing thoughtfully, "Really, you need to ask?"

Stefan frowned slightly.

"He's just stressed, like everyone else."

"Yeah, but what did he mean by 'another one'? It can't be what I think it is," he paused, "_please_ don't tell me it's what I think it is."

"Of course it is, Stefan," Gerald responded, sounding much too cheerful for said man's liking. "We're the next detectives on one of those children cases."

And the two left it at that.

Or Bekowsky left it at that, letting his partner decide whether to keep talking or do his usual dodge routine during the rare conversations that were actually wanted. And he obviously chose the latter. At least until they got to the actual crime scene.

It wasn't at all as gloomy or mysterious as Stefan had first believed it to be. The atmosphere could have even been considered _cheerful_ if it hadn't been for the smoking Cadillac shoved head-on into a tree, the scene surrounded by police tape, blockades, and a single ambulance. At least there was no slick black cab of the Coroner to be found. It was a sight one got used to seeing in Traffic, sadly. People were such idiots sometimes.

The two detectives pulled up to the curb a few metres away from the area, each stepping out with their eyes glued to their next case.

"Really looks like they did a number on that one," Gerald straightened out his jacket, following behind his partner as they started forward. "It's a nice car too."

"When is it any different?"

Before he could answer the rhetorical question (as he often did, to Stefan's displeasure), a patrol officer had waved them over, his face grim.

"Detectives," he nodded to each of them in turn, gesturing to himself afterwards, "Officer Russell, first on scene. Glad you could make it." Bekowsky half-smiled at the sarcasm, shrugging in a what-can-you-do fashion.

He glanced past him, quickly scanning over the midnight black convertible, the hood folded in and nearly wrapping around the tree. The passenger's door had been torn off of its hinges, but was nowhere to be seen. At least, it wasn't metres from the car alongside the trunk, a few more loose parts, and ripped up grass. The other side had been wrenched open by an outside force, most likely to get the driver out quickly.

Hopefully whoever it happened to be was fine, though it was extremely difficult to believe looking at the scene. Quickly shaking himself from those wandering thoughts, Stefan turned back to the officer, "Well, tell us what you know and you'll be glad to get out of here instead."

Russell nodded, turning slightly to look at the mess as well.

"I was called at six in the morning. They told me I was closest and needed to get over here," he began, face blank, "and fast. I obviously wasn't fast enough."

"Wait," Bekowsky narrowed his eyes slightly, only half-glancing at his partner who moved forward a few steps. "_Six_ this morning?" He was sure it had been nearly _noon_ last time he had checked. Odd.

"Yeah," Officer Russell nodded wearily.

So that had been mostly _exhaustion_ he had originally seen. It made sense.

"It was just so hectic at the station and everyone else working on similar cases were getting nowhere. Or so I've been told. Anyway, when I got here, the car was smoking, surprisingly not on fire but close to. I called who I could to get the driver out and cool the vehicle off. Other than that the evidence hasn't been touched. We left it as fresh as we could for whenever they could send some detectives over, and I'm going to say that's you two."

The older of the two partners nodded slowly, eyes glued to the driver's seat.

"The guy," Stefan began, frowning in slight discomfort, "is he…?"

"No."

It was nice when they caught on quickly.

"He was knocked out with a couple scrapes and bruises but still breathing, had to be sent to the hospital," Russell gestured towards the remaining ambulance, "That guys still here just in case."

Bekowsky nodded again.

"The victim is Daniel Earnest, early twenties and Caucasian. I don't know whether to consider him damn lucky…or not."

After simply listening to the conversation for a while with his arms crossed, Gerald finally spoke up, turning around, "What do you mean?" He had definitely voiced Stefan's thoughts. Anyone who survived such a violent crash with minor injuries was extremely fortunate in his experience.

"Why do you think you're here?"

The two detectives exchanged glances as he said this, the older with an eyebrow raised.

"Foul play. No sign of alcohol so far, the gas pedal was pressed down, break _missing_, the lady who saw it all said the car looked like it was being pulled towards the tree no matter which way it swerved, and," ignoring the growing confusion on each of the detective's faces, the officer pulled a slip of paper folded over from his pocket. He handed it to Stefan, "another one of the notes. I picked it up in case the wind or stray sparks caught it."

Wide eyes turning to a frown, the older detective slowly opened the paper. This was it. He was finally part of this big issue. He was finally going to get in on these notes, _read_ one even. The only problem? He couldn't. He narrowed his eyes at the rows upon rows of "writing," the whole thing looking like a giant mess of teal words, letters, and 4-1-3 to him.

~ X ~

"This way," she hissed down at the boy beneath her, wrenching her body in the opposite direction they were currently going. There was _no way_ she was going to miss the action for the sake of getting caught. It was such a silly reason to avoid the area. She shouldn't have to worry about that! It had been for justice after all. They'd understand.

"TZ, I am _not_ going over there. You're crazy! Everyone here is paranoid and would think a _plant_ suspicious if it was growing crooked halfway across the city! Not to mention it's been _hours_ since it actually happened. They're probably already done!"

The girl giggled quietly as she listened to her companion complain, her sharp teeth hidden by the collar of the trench coat. Of course, she _knew_ they weren't done. They had just started.

"I should never have brought you along," he muttered, adjusting her on his shoulders with a small jump. They stood in the middle of a sidewalk, faking a man with an awkward body physique at that moment, as half of him was bent one way while the other was pulling in the opposite direction.

"Come on, it'll be fine! Who's going to think we're suspicious?" She stuck her nose in the air, nearly leaning far enough to slip off of the other's shoulders. But that smell of burnt rubber and mystery was just too intriguing for her to care.

All she got was a small groan in response however, and then the girl was jerked forward- or backwards, in her case- as he began to walk away rather briskly. Tightening her grip on the young man with her legs, she flailed her arms momentarily, smacking a hard object to her left without warning.

"Watch it!" Someone snapped from that exact area.

The girl's head whipped in the voice's direction once she found balance, immediately breathing in the scent of dirt and something extremely bitter. Scrunching her nose up in distaste, she turned away from the stench, almost wanting to pinch off her method of seeing (but then, of course, she wouldn't be able to _"see"_).

At least it was fading. He hadn't even stayed long enough to argue! And neither had they. Her smile flipped into an annoyed scowl now, she held her head towards the direction they were moving.

"These people are so rude. Fine, we'll go your way. Whatever," mumbling crossly, the girl slipped her arms out of the long coat's sleeves, resting them on the boy's head. She felt him flinch slightly and his head tilt upwards, but she ignored it. Just like she was attempting to ignore the inviting aroma of a thrilling adventure. And that disgusting man's body odour. _Oh_, she needed something to _do!_

She began to tap on the top of his head as they continued walking, head turning left and right, nose in the air like a dog. There was honestly nothing of interest, just a few splashes of deliciously smelling colors here and there, blocks where there were more inky papers, and one stand that made her nose tingle with a slight chilly feel but was appealing all the same. She figured it to be some sort of frozen dessert that people enjoyed in this city, tapping on the young man's head a bit harder as she made this assumption.

"_Dammit_, TZ, would you _stop_ that?" The boy finally snapped after a while.

His annoyance barely registered, but his request did.

Both of the girl's hands hovered above his head for a moment, her head turned to the left, blind eyes staring blankly at a street vender.

"_Thank you._"

"Stop," she said quickly, slipping her arms through the trench coat's sleeves again.

"What?"

"Just stop."

Slowly, the boy came to a halt, trying to look up at her behind the fabric of the large, dark jacket.

It probably seemed incredibly odd for this random, over-dressed, tall individual to stop dead in his tracks, but she could smell it. It was that sickening stench again, the one that belonged to the filthy man from earlier, and it was coming from a newspaper stand. It was extremely difficult to tell there was anything even _around_ the man, but she could sense it. Deceit. Devious plans. Something…_fishy_.

"Quick," her tone turning rather serious, the girl quickly brought a hand back into the jacket and turned her companion's head in the stranger's direction. "See that guy?"

There was a pause as he fiddled with the centre buttons, ruffling of clothing the only noise made.

"Yeah?" He whispered.

"We're going after him," keeping her blank eyes locked on the man, she took one more deep breath.

"What?"

"Ready?"

"What's g-"

"_Now!_"

At that moment, he swiped a black and white print from the stand skillfully as the seller had his back turned, stuffing the paper inside his own jacket.

"Are you _crazy?_" The boy exclaimed incredulously (though he already knew the answer) as she pointed an accusing finger at the individual. Ignoring him once more, a large grin split across her face, not attempting to hide it this time.

"We've caught you red-handed, you dirty _thief_!" She snapped with her usual cruel amusement, the smile nearly eating half of her face now.

And he noticed. And when he noticed, he ran. And when he ran, eyes wide in sudden fear, so did the two children. Of course, only _after_ an encouraging kick from the girl to get moving.

~ X ~

It turned out the "lady who saw it all" lived at least two blocks from the actual crime scene, needing to get home to a seven month old child.

It made perfect sense. Why wait for six hours just to give some information to a detective when another cop could relay it for you and you could get back to a family? Well unfortunately for her, this detective needed (and wanted) it from the original source.

Stefan sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked along the street. It didn't bother him that he had to head over to the woman's house; it gave him more time to think on his own after all. He was simply frustrated with the note given.

Hadn't all of the other ones been _legible_? Hadn't they all had some sort of _message_? And this one had _nothing_? It was incredibly confusing and irritating, especially when he had this strange feeling it was all some sort of secret message or code. It was probably the simplest thing in the world too_._ He just wasn't…smart enough.

He released another deeply annoyed breath of air, eyes focused on the pavement in front of him and no other surroundings. He knew where he was going. It was a simple address. He had to explain that thoroughly to Gerald, the latter asking continuously if he was absolutely positive he didn't need help or a drive.

Maybe it was just so he could come along? Well, too bad for him. Someone needed to stay and continue investigating the area, looking for other witnesses as well. And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Bekowsky. He had enough of Traffic to last him a lifetime.

The detective reached the final corner, still keeping his head down. He was vaguely aware that someone had run by rather quickly a few steps before turning, shrugging it off as a man late for work. But he wasn't prepared for the sudden direct impact of a different individual sprinting twice as fast as the previous, the two of them falling down in a mess of flying curses and fabric.

And he _definitely_ wasn't prepared to come face-to-face- after mumbling crossly and pushing up into a sitting position from his somewhat painful fall- with a pair of frighteningly bright, crimson red eyes.


End file.
